


To Himling: Part Twenty-One

by vetiverite



Series: To Himling [21]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brain Injury, Brothers, Coma, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Gentle Sex, Ghost Thorin, Ghost Thrain, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Intrigue, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Tauriel? Who's Tauriel?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:08:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: The elders push the Durins too far, and the volcano that erupts sweeps away their age-old power.
Relationships: Fíli & Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien), Nori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Ori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: To Himling [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429636
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	1. Comfort

_Up, you lump. My leg’s falling asleep._

_Nnnh. Don’t make me move. I hardly slept._

_Whose fault is that?_

_I’m not saying a word._

_That’s best. Anyway, I slept no more than you did._

_Oh, and whose fault is_ that?

From far away drifted the sound of the noon bell, servants’ laughter, the piping cry of an osprey in her high nest. The quarrel - if it could be called that, with one opponent’s head pillowed in the other’s lap – added no strife to this music. Interspersed with laughter and mild ribbing, it wended its peaceable way through the brothers’ first wakeful hour.

_Zanid, my leg…_

_A minute more. My head’s bursting._

_It ought to, after all you drank. My leg shouldn’t be punished on your account._

_After all the dancing_ you _did last night, b.._ both _of your legs deserve what they get._

All last night and until dawn, Jera and her brothers had played their drums. The rhythms they spun lashed the ears and liberated the feet of every Khuzd within ten miles— except the elders. _They_ had been holing up at the lodge since yesterday afternoon, and no one missed their sour faces. Still, in all fairness, it must be said that their presence might have deterred at least some of last night’s excesses…

 _Zanid._ A thought budded and bloomed in Fíli’s head. _Weren’t you going to show Bilbo the skep today?_

 _Yes—though I think he wants to see the honey press more._ A yawn. _I pr…promised him some wax to bring home to the Shire._

_Well, then, you’d better get a move on, don’t you think? The morning’s gone, and the day will follow before you know it._

Kíli only groaned.

Another, more persuasive notion flowered. Smoothing his thumb over his brother’s dark brows, Fíli coaxed, _We’ve an hour at least until Mother insists we come down_. _If you’d let me, I’d lie beside you._

_I’m too much awake now to g… go back to sleep._

_Did I say sleep?_ Fíli traced the rim of Kíli’s ear, caressing its velvety lobe as he watched his idea put down roots in his brother’s mind. 

True to his love of the tangible, Kíli had recently decided that lovemaking counted as morningtide prayer. Mahal’s supplicants could never be quite certain that he heard their cries, but Kíli could see and touch and taste Fíli. Here was a deity he could grasp with two hands and worship from head to heel.

He gazed up at his god, intent and serious. _Kiss me,_ he entreated.

_I will. Let me move._

Success: _naddith_ now eagerly did as _nadad_ bade him, rolling aside and wrestling him down.

Reaching to stroke Kíli’s lips with his thumb, Fíli recalled the elder – Stothrin, it was, dour-browed and disapproving – who had lectured him about their (as he put it) _unfitting behavior_.

 _You and your brother have gone your own way all your lives. You observe some of the people’s customs, but you disregard others or make up your own. This …_ He’d gestured at Fíli’s braid ornaments, or more properly, Kíli’s. _Dwarfling’s pranks, unworthy of King and Heir. As for your beards, I realize that your uncle exerted a strong influence on you, and you seek even now to emulate him by trimming them short. But Thráin disapproved of his son’s habits, especially this one._ Wheedling: _Do you not think he would be proud and glad if his grandsons returned to the old way?_

Had Thráin known his grandsons at all, he’d have fretted over far more than the length of their beards. But he was dead and gone, and the elders (except Ninur) were foolish old codgers, and Dáin would come, and Fíli and Kíli would awaken to one another just this way, every morning, in their rightful sea-swept kingdom…

A touch summoned Fíli back from reverie.

 _Kiss me,_ whispered Kíli.

 _Yes,_ replied Fíli. And with that, Stothrin and Thráin and all other phantoms retreated to their shadows.


	2. Summons

Just as Kili had freed his brother’s hair from its clumsy plait, there came a curt rap upon the door. _Wake up, lazies!_ boomed Gimli on the other side.

 _Ai!_ Fíli exclaimed irritably. _A moment!_ He gave Kíli’s knee a brisk slap and rolled to the edge of the bed, yanking down his tunic where roving fingers had pushed it up.

It took rather longer than usual for them to get to the door.

Glowing with self-importance, Gimli stood rocking forward and back on his heels in the hallway. _Bhurin sent me to fetch you— me and none other!_ he declared. _He knows how fast I run—_

 _Did you stay long enough to find out where he wants us?_ Fíli teased.

 _Oh, I know very well— Aunt Dís asks for you. She’s in her sitting room with Jera’s mother. Do you think they’re going to_ make _Kíli marry Jera this time?_

 _THIS time?_ Fíli looked curiously at a sheepish Kíli struggling into his boots.

They found the answer to Gimli’s question two landings down the back staircase. There, Nori and Jera stood locked in a kiss more savage than any Fíli and Kíli had ever tried, and they’d tried plenty. Even more startling, Nori was the one with his back against the wall and a heel hooked around Jera’s ankle.

 _OI!_ Fíli cried.

The pair sprang apart like startled hares. 

_We, ah, we were…_ stammered Nori, hastily wiping his mouth, but Jera took a different tack. She dealt Fíli a blow to the shoulder, crying _'Abadbunt!_

So Fíli finally earned his nickname: _Lynx_ , the most silent-footed of all wild beasts. Much good the honor did him: Jera swiftly let him have it again. Yet if her little fist dealt the worst hurt of that day, he’d count himself blessed.

 _You startled us!_ Jera cried.

 _Not more than you did us,_ smirked Fili.

 _Are you going to hit me, too?_ Kíli asked Jera. It was hard to tell whether he felt frightened or left out.

 _Never, tâhaljimê._ To prove it, Jera threw her arms all the way around him. _We’re getting married, remember? These two here can go scratch._

Nori – whom even the most excruciating circumstances couldn’t rattle – now scrubbed the back of his neck like a disgraced dwarfling. _Fíli, I— I swear we’d have told if we could—_

 _I’m glad for you,_ Fíli assured him. _Kíli is, too._

Jera propped her chin on Kíli’s chest to stare up at him, aghast. _Even knowing I’ve jilted you for this dolt? Unbelievable._

Gimli observed all this from behind Fíli’s elbow, and quite frankly, it all left him incredulous. The only opinion he could muster was, _Well, THIS is a fine thing._

 _Have you both told your brothers?_ Fíli inquired of the fortunate pair.

 _Tchk!_ scornful Jera clucked. _Some spy I’d be if I flapped my tongue at every turn._

 _I’ve not told, either,_ said Nori. _I’d hate to overshadow Ori’s joy. He and Haya—_

 _Nun’el!_ Kíli bucked a little in his excitement, like a young goat. His sly efforts had borne success!

 _You’ve never seen Dori so happy,_ Nori grinned. _All his life he’s dreamt of such a day. He’s already begun to plan the wedding feast. Mahal knows he’ll throw every penny of his—_ Nori halted with an embarrassed cough. He’d almost said _Erebor share_.

Fíli guessed and took no offense. _He can have mine, if he runs out. Handfastings are costly. What about yours?_

 _Oh, well…_ More neck-scrubbing.

Kíli – echoed soon by Gimli – began to hum a wedding tune traditionally sung to lend courage where none is needed:

> _The hearth is cold!_
> 
> _Who will light the fire?_
> 
> _Their hands are cold!_
> 
> _Who will light the fire?_

_There’s no hurry for that,_ Jera scoffed. _We have our work, you know. About which…_ She detached from Kíli to grasp his brother’s sleeve. _Things are coming, and coming fast. You must speak with your mother._

_We’re going to her now. Come with us?_

_We’ve already been. We’re going to celebrate our betrothal on the roof for everyone to see and hear. If our antics won’t disgust him too much, Gimli can come along. But YOU –_ she poked Fíli’s shoulder _– must promise to tell me everything, since everyone ELSE tells me nothing._

Fíli linked his smallest finger with hers to keep her from going. _I’ve kept things from you, too, Kartûna._

This honorific – Drum-Woman, shamaness – lived longer than both bearer and bestower. Inscribed in family histories, it marked Jera as a healer and strength-giver and concealed her role as a royal spy. Those who read it on the page would never know the love with which Fíli spoke it. Nor would they know that he amended on occasion to _Makarratûname –_ She Who Pummels Me – in tribute to Jera’s quick little fists.

Today she did not employ them a third time. Before Fíli could speak further, she squeezed his finger with hers.

 _You needn’t say it. I already know,_ she whispered. _Your mother and Nori explained. I’m with you whatever comes of it. But go now to your mother— and mine. Mahal help us, I think they’re becoming friends._

 _I hope so,_ said Fíli. _We need as many as we can get._


	3. Cliff's Edge

Two landings away from the kitchen, Kíli flattened his back to the wall and pulled Fili hard against him. He even crooked one leg around his brother’s to draw him closer. _Is this right?_ he smirked.

_It’s good that we interrupted them before they went too far,_ Fíli pointed out.

_We were interrupted ourselves._ Playfully palming Fíli’s buttocks, Kili ground their hips together. _I might go too far._

_Later, beautiful man. As far as you wish, I promise. Right now—_

Footsteps scuffing stone from below. With a muffled laugh from Kili, the brothers parted, smoothing down their tunics.

Moving slow, Fenja came into view. 

_Ho, Fenja!_ Kili called to her. _W-we, we were just—_

_Wait,_ said Fíli. He’d seen his old nurse waver and lean against the wall as if laboring to breathe. _Fenja? Are you well?_

She pushed herself upright, climbed the last few steps to the landing on her own, and made the hand-sign for courage. 

Kíli swallowed hard and dragged the inside of his wrist across his mouth.

_The Elders request your presence in the Throne Room of the Great Hall._ An unfamiliar grief thickened Fenja’s tongue. She visibly shuddered, fighting the words: _Your Majesty._

A savage ache rippled through Fíli’s chest; he fruitlessly tried to suppress it. Kíli, too, recognized at once that this was the great storm arrived at last. He put one arm around Fíli’s waist to anchor him and reached with the other to bring Fenja in. For the first time, she felt brittle and delicate, an old woman. 

_My boys,_ she whispered against Kili’s chest. _My boys._

In this instant, for all they cared, the world around them could crumble to dust.

Kíli kissed his _nadad’s_ brow. _Fíli, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t._

Before Fíli could smother it, a laugh – not entirely bitter - escaped his lips. _Shall we steal a skiff right now, brother?_

_We don’t have to steal a skiff. We_ own _the skiff. We_ own _the island. Remember?_ Kíli’s embrace tightened. _Wwww… we’re going to go there together and make a happy life. Are we the only two of all our folk who aren’t allowed to have one?_

Plain and guileless as their speaker, these words dispelled the panic that gripped Fíli by the throat. They called to his mind another’s words: _Nothing tethers us to Erebor. Why should you and Kíli not be happy and free while you live?_

_All right, Maralmizu,_ he told his brother, his friend, his promised one. _All right. Let’s go down. We might end on our knees today, but we'll begin on our feet._


	4. Fall and Rise

_The road to the Throne is like any other road. One walks it step by step._

So Navrin told Fíli on the first day of his spring retreat. He understood that his pupil had been _chosen_ – not _born_ – to rule, yet even a natural Heir does not become King overnight.

 _The rites of ascension, anointment, oath-taking— all of these consecrate the sovereign and ready him for his destiny. But only when he sits crowned in Erebor before his people does he become the King Under the Mountain._ Here Navrin offered a wasp’s-sting of a smile. _Your uncle came close, I believe. He had the crown and Erebor, but sadly, not the people._

Back then, Fili had clenched his fists under the table. Now he clenched them for all the people – his and Thorin’s – to see.

_We gather in the name of Durin the Deathless, first of his line and father of us all, to lament the falling dusk and take joy in the new day rising…_

So began the ascension ritual— codified by Durin, spoken now by Navrin, and witnessed by all including three no one could see. Fenja alone lifted her head, suspicion lighting her eyes like flintstrike.

 _Damned fool,_ she muttered.

 _(She knows me still!_ gleeful Thráin whispered to Frerin.)

Still breathless at the haste with which they had been herded together, the crowd – an uneasy mixture of townspeople, miners, and Spur-Folk – looked around in confusion. None of them had ever seen an ascension before; indeed, neither had most of the elders. Thorin had only Ninur by his side when news of Thráin’s death reached Khagal’abad. He’d marked the occasion by placing the first stone of Thorinutumnu, and until that house was complete, he refused all other ritual. His ascension – facilitated by Ninur and Hala and witnessed only by Dís, Ganin, and Fenja – had taken place before Durin’s ikon in the great room, not amid the dragon-carven columns of the Horror.

 _You would have hated this,_ Dís told her brother’s spirit now. _Surely you would have stopped it._ But the elders wanted it, and having won, they would enjoy their high ritual.

Onward Navrin droned: _I am twice told that Thorin, rightful King Under the Mountain, fell defending the sacred Throne of Erebor._

With all his heart, Fíli wished he could say that Thorin died a peaceful death at home— or better, say nothing at all, turn and leave the way he came. But like all Khuzd, he took the old adages to heart. _Who sleeps in a bed must make it; who eats from a plate must wash it; who starts a thing must finish it._ The whole sad rite must be seen through to the end, for Thorin’s sake if not his own. So Fíli met Navrin’s eye and calmly responded, _Yes, fighting bravely._

_Were you witness to it?_

_(Steady, son,_ Ganin whispered to Fíli.)

_To both his valor and his fall, I was._

Kíli’s jaw knotted, but he kept his peace. He, too, felt Ganin nearby.

_(Steady.)_

_Óin and Glóin, sons of Gróin, certify that they, together with Dáin son of Náin and Balin son of Fundin, laid the body of Thorin son of Thráin upon the bier in the house of our forefathers._

Bitterness filled Fíli’s mouth as he shaped the words: _To this I was not witness, but it is so._

 _The King Under the Mountain is dead; the King Under the Mountain lives again,_ came the elders’ chorus. _Long prosper the line of Durin the Deathless._

At a cue from Halfur, the Spur-Folk knelt to touch foreheads to floor. Thorin’s people each dropped to one knee, hands shielding their eyes from the King’s glory according to their own custom. Even Dís knelt. She knew the rite; it must be completed before it could be overturned. And though she could not feel it – scars of the soul are as thick and nerveless as those of the body – Thráin knelt beside her.

Kíli did not kneel; nor did he let go of Fíli’s hand. Those who knew the brothers understood at once.

_So they’ve decided to ascend together! Where’s the surprise in that? We had one bachelor King in Thorin; now we’ll have two. True, it’s never been done before— but leave it Dís’ sons to set a new example. As for children to further the line, why worry? They’re young. There’s time. And even if they remain unwed, they won’t die heirless. Kíli will succeed Fíli; Dáin will succeed Kíli. If Dáin passes before Kíli, Thorin Stonehelm will slip into his father’s place…_

But one witness did not take matters so much in stride. _I don’t understand— one_ _votes to choose mayors and shirriffs, not Kings!_ hissed Bilbo.

 _It’s not a_ choosing, _exactly_ , whispered Ori. _It’s the taking-away of a choice. The elders wanted to raise Fíli sooner, but he kept putting them off, so they formed a majority and forced the issue._

_If these elders rule even Kings, they have too much power._

_Not just Kings, Bilbo._ Ori glanced around. _See Navrin’s men? See their axes? We all stand under a blade._

 _(Not for long,_ whispered Frerin.)

Navrin lifted his hands to show submission to a greater power. _On this day, the first quarter of the Double-Praise Moon, we witness the rise of he who is to be our King,_ he intoned. _At the full moon, by the grace and will of Mahal, the Heir shall depart for Erebor. There he will be anointed, enthroned, and crowned King Under the Mountain at the Moon of Durin’s Crown. So we all say and so we seal it._

Now came the second obeisance, and once again, Bilbo found himself the only upright soul in a sea of bent heads. The entire exercise rankled him sore. Never did _Thorin Oakenshield_ demand that others prostrate themselves before him—on the dusty floor, no less!

Traditionally, the Heir would now recite a simple pledge to follow the path described by Navrin. After this would come the third and final obeisance, which even the elders would perform. Dís stepped to her children, touching them gently to bring them to order. Joined by Fenja and Bhurin, the family faced the elders as one.

 _No,_ said Fíli.

 _(Ha!_ crowed Thráin.)

A frigid silence stole through the hall, numbing tongue after tongue. The only sound was Fíli’s voice, quiet and firm: _I am Thorin Oakenshield’s recognized Heir. But I do not recognize this council. It has acted in bad faith._

Some of the elders’ faces blanched. Others flinched as if slapped or stung. Only Rurik of Azsâlul'abad and Darvi of Zirak-Zigil looked smug, and as always, Forekhet of Baraz’abad showed no emotion at all.

 _I told you of my wishes, yet time and again, you set them at naught,_ Fíli continued, all the more mesmerizing for being so quiet. _But despite all your maneuvering, Dáin and Ninur_ will _come— and together they bring a reckoning._

Now a subtle malcontent muttering rose to extinguish the silence. W _hat is this? What does the Heir mean? What is happening here?_

Navrin pounded his iron staff. _Clear the room! We would speak alone with Dís’ sons. Their mother may stay—_

 _MAY stay!_ This from Minaen. _This is her house!_

 _And we are her kin!_ called out Hinaen. _And what is this talk of bad faith and maneuvering? Explain it!_

 _Aye!_ Voices rose from crowd. _Explain it!_

Navrin either did not see his authority was under question, or he disbelieved such a thing could ever be. Stone chips danced where his staff struck the floor. _Enough! We will have order!_ _Clear this room at once!_

From that point things unfolded quickly, each action nipping at its forerunner’s heels at such a pace that Dís became breathless recounting it later to Tharkûn.

It began with Hinaen and Minaen, spread to Gimli and his cousins Borin and Farin, picking up Óin and Glóin along the way. Haya pushed her way through the crowd to seize Ori; of course Bilbo followed, with Dori and Nori close behind. Ganin's kin (urged on by Ganin himself) joined them. In twos and threes, they all wove their way to Fíli’s side.

Like a freshet breaking down banks in haste to join a river, the folk of Thorinutumnu surged forward under the elders’ startled eyes. Simi, Hahal, Torli, Skili, Halmin the alemaster, Thuna the witwife, healers and householders, artisans and soldiers… and then Halfur, highest of the Spur-Folk, took his own fateful leap.

Jera felt dazzled, numb, as after a day outside in winter sun— and for all the effort it took her to cross it, the distance between her and the Durins might have been paved with clouds. She did not walk; she soared. Kíli caught her and passed her to Nori. She dimly perceived a jostling beside her: her brothers, every one, and Eira and Fjôl…

 _Guards!_ Navrin cried _. Guards! Restore order!_

But the elders’ men hesitated. Alone of their number, Arn came forward, but only to liberate Bilkha from her governess’ grip. In the pause that followed, axes, hammers, and knives appeared as if by magic from every boot, belt, and pocket. Glowering and muttering, Fíli’s folk – this being now what they considered themselves – stamped and raked the floor with their boot-soles, ready for a brawl. Only Fíli kept his calm.

 _If mine go, so must yours,_ he countered reasonably, as if reminding Navrin of the right way to forge a door-hinge. _Speak with me in front of my people, or not at all._

_What right have you to order me? You are not King yet!_

_(Now, daughter,_ said Thráin to Dís. _Now.)_

 _He is my son, and I am Thráin’s daughter!_ When Dis raised her voice, no one could doubt who sired her. _I may not rule our people, but I rule this mountain, and the right to order those who tread its stones is mine! Either send your people away and stay, or take them and go!_

 _Very well! We shall not remain where we are accused of ill dealings. Come!_ Navrin bade his fellow elders. _Let us give our hosts time to ponder how to proceed without us. When they realize they are rudderless, perhaps they’ll find their manners!_

Suddenly, as if freed from a net, Harr plunged forward—not in the direction of the door, but towards his King. In his wake hobbled his old comrade Stóin, assisted by Hala, shaking her head.

For the briefest of moments, Navrin looked triumphant over maintaining a majority, even one now empty of power. But then Forekhet – tall, dignified, steady in his secret purposes – peeled away from the group and sailed across the gap to Eira’s side. He did not look at Darvi and Rurik as he passed. But Njoli, close behind, did.

Bolstered by her people (and by the spirits of father, brother, and husband close at her back), Dís began again calmly. _Lord Navrin. You see how it is. Send your guards away, and let us talk things over._

Fíli watched Navrin carefully, but his brother only had eyes for him.

Was it truly less than two moon-turnings since they had quarreled in the yard over sovereignty? Of course, it was natural that Kíli viewed things differently now through the eyes of a _yasthûn_. What seemed to strike at his very heart then swelled his heart with pride now, as the door between one life and another shut. 

He lifted Fíli’s hand to his mouth, and the world did not end.

It began.


End file.
